Flux

patients. “Obviously we’ll continue to monitor for any physical symptoms.”
    “Well, make sure you keep me updated.” Unsatisfied, she left.

    The nurse came at the same time as before, brandishing a little plastic cup which held the little red and yellow pill rattling about in the bottom. Reluctantly he took it from her. He didn’t want the pill; he hated feeling empty, zombified, the life taken from him and walking around in a permanent daze. Were the ghosts so bad? Holding it in his hand, he stared at it. The nurse watched expectantly.
    “Come on, down the hatch.”
    Patronising bitch.
    He put it in his mouth, holding it under his tongue, unwilling to swallow. She passed him the water and watched him drink: the little red and yellow pill slid down his throat.
    “There you go. That wasn’t so bad was it?”
    “How long am I here for?”
    “That depends on whether you take your medication.”
    He sighed and she left. He was all alone again, in the white room, feeling not quite real. Unable to face the chaos of the dining room, he ate on his own, fish fingers and chips: beige food.
    I’d rather be dead! If this was what being better was all about then he wanted no part of it; he was already dead. This bit will pass; you’ll get used to the drugs and start to feel like yourself again. Was he kidding himself?
    Boredom finally got the better of him again and he shuffled in his socks to the common room. He wore on his face the same vacant look as the other patients in the unit. Jasper Carrot was on the TV; Iain used to like him but now he presented some inane quiz show. The room was busy, glass-eyed zombies sat mesmerised by the goggle box; he doubted they were even seeing the screen, let alone comprehending what was going on.
    “Anyone for buckaroo?” he shouted loudly.
    A couple of people turned, slack-jawed, staring at him with empty eyes, devoid of souls.
    “Never mind.” More quietly as he rummaged to free the box from the pile. Blowing away the dust, he opened it and started to stack the pieces which weren’t missing onto the plastic horse.
    “I’ll play,” a quiet voice from behind. Anne moved to sit opposite, cross legged on the floor. Before long they were giggling as the first cry of ‘BUCKAROO!’ went up.
    “SHHHhhh,” an elderly man on the sofa scowled at them.
    Giggles turned to laughter.

Chapter Twenty-Two
    Religion

    Tim came the next morning, dressed in blue jeans and grey tee shirt. After asking how Iain was feeling and exchanging pleasantries, Iain asked him what he knew about the devil.
    “Why do you want to know about the devil?”
    “Because I’ve seen him.” May as well get straight to the point , Iain thought to himself.
    “Are you still having the nightmares?” asked Tim, slightly perplexed.
    “And worse.”
    Tim paused for a moment, seemingly deep in thought; “when was the last time?”
    “Before I came in here,” he said, knowing exactly what Tim would say.
    “And what does that tell you?” he asked, looking Iain directly in the eye.
    “I know. It’s just that it seemed so real. I think it might be my brain trying to tell me something.” He fingered the hem of his hospital gown, looking at the floor.
    “God works in mysterious ways.”
    “So I’ve heard. I wish I could understand that’s all.”
    “Here.” Tim reached into his pocket and pulled out a bible. Iain briefly wondered how he’d fitted it in there while still being able to walk and sit. “There might be something in here which can help.”
    “Thanks.” Iain held the book, looking at the cover. “What do you think it means?” he asked.
    “That’s for you to work out yourself. The way I see it though, is that you’ve been given a second chance.”
    “Of what?”
    “Life.”
    “Oh; but I don’t think I’ve done anything so bad that I need such a harsh lesson. I’ve never been a bad person.”
    “God will love you whatever. Trust in him and in his word and maybe all will become clearer.”
    “OK, will do.”
    After Tim left the room, Iain was left in noticeable silence. He hadn’t realised how much chatter there was in his head until it had stopped; he missed it a little. Lying on the bed, he opened the New Testament and started at the beginning. At first he had to concentrate hard to absorb what was on the page; he’d never been a great reader and the style of writing and verse often led him to re-read portions so he could understand the text. Before long though he was